


The Dark Before the Dawn

by MxMearcstapa



Series: FE3H Whump Week 2020 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, FE3H Whump Week, Gen, Hurt, Imprisonment, Other, Public Execution, Public Humiliation, Violence, Whump, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxMearcstapa/pseuds/MxMearcstapa
Summary: It is Imperial Year 1181. Nearly four months have passed since the fall of the monastery at Garreg Mach, and war continues to plague the lands of Fódlan. In the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, Grand Duke of Itha and Regent of the Kingdom has been found murdered. For the crimes of kinslaying and regicide, Prince Dimitri has been sentenced to a public execution.Dedue is not content to let him meet that fate.For FE3H Whump Week, Day 1~
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Dedue Molinaro
Series: FE3H Whump Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031775
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	The Dark Before the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags! This is incredibly whumpy and more than a little violent.
> 
> CW: violence and killing, blood, binding, imprisonment, public humiliation, whump, oh gods, the whump

The Prince of Faerghus was pitiable sight.

He had been handsome, once, but a few days in the dungeons could turn anyone around. Not that he had been far from madness in any case: his blond hair, long unkept, had grown unruly. Covered in grime, it hung over his single blue eye like the mane of a lion. A patch black as night covered his right eye, or where it would have been, at least. He had wounded it searching for his beloved Professor, gouged it on some piece of debris he had been too careless to heed. Or so the rumor went, at least. He looked heedless now, scowling like a wild animal, eternal grimace apparent on his face even through the gag tied around his mouth.

Yet he still stood tall, some semblance of pride—or perhaps spite—left in him even bound as he was, and they had needed to bind him _tightly_. Perhaps he meant to be imposing. Perhaps, untied, he might have been. As bombastic as the claims of his strength had seemed, they had not been exaggerated one iota. Before they had managed to capture him the first time, Prince Dimitri had taken out almost a dozen men.

Bare-handed.

Cornelia regarded him with a sneer, and he responded with a growl. She pressed a hand to her chest, feigning fear before laughing, unable to entertain the notion that he had any power for a single moment more.

“Oh, how scary the caged lion is!” she jeered.

The prince had nothing to say to that, no muffled words or bestial vocalizations; instead he glared with such a fury that a lesser being might have withered under the heat of his gaze.

Cornelia was not a lesser being.

She smiled at him: the prince, the prisoner. If only looks could kill. She knew he’d snap her neck like a twig if he had even a moment’s opportunity. He would not be given the opportunity, but the memory of his strength made her more uncomfortable than she wished it to. Fear did not have a place in a being like her. She covered the feeling with another dark chuckle, and with a sidelong glance, ensured the guards were watching the prince before she turned her back to him.

Cornelia knew she shouldn’t provoke him. The more riled he was, the harder he resisted when they transported him to and from his cell.

But it was just so much _fun_.

And this was going to be, too.

They pushed him up the stairs to the platform of Fhirdiad’s main square, to a sea of faces roiling with fear and anger—and beneath that, an underlying current of despair. Cornelia inhaled, heady with satisfaction. Her personal favorite combination. It took considerable concentration to maintain the facade of grim concern, as though she hated delivering this wretched news to the good people of the Kingdom.

Those absolute _dullards_.

“People of Faerghus,” she cried, amplifying her voice with magic. “I give you the Traitor Prince.”

The noise from the crowd nearly made her squeal with delight. The people, _his own people,_ would have none of him, the prince who had murdered his uncle, the Regent, in a fit of unstable rage. The rages he was so frequently prone to, always muttering about the dead, about vengeance, about Duscur. Prince Dimitri had not actually been responsible for his uncle’s demise, but he was so perfect a scapegoat that he might as well have. It was almost unfair how stacked against him the deck had been.

Almost.

Fairness was for the filthy creatures who begged the false goddess for favor. Cornelia knew better. Cornelia knew what you wanted, you took.

And so she took Faerghus with such a delicate, calculated hand that it practically crawled into her lap.

“Tomorrow, at this time, at this spot, Prince Dimitri will be publicly executed for his crimes.”

* * *

He had to move quickly.

While the rest of his former classmates had only despaired from a distance, Dedue had been planning. Five years he had spent in Prince Dimitri’s service, and in that five years, he had learned a great deal. He had learned the people of Faerghus could be cruel, as harsh and unforgiving as the land they eked a living from, as they spat at him or hurled insults. He had learned they could be colder than a frigid winter, turning away from him at even the simplest request or changing their path to avoid him entirely. And he had learned that beneath their frozen exterior, they could be warm and gentle as new shoots in spring, as Dimitri smiled and offered his hand, over and over.

As all the Blue Lions had.

Dedue could not afford to think of his classmates now. He had but a small window of time in which he could execute his plan.

His time in Faerghus had taught Dedue more concrete things as well. He knew the layout of the castle almost as well as he had once known his own home. He knew the guard rotations, how the men were armed, and most importantly, where they had taken Prince Dimitri. His plan was dangerous and difficult, and Dedue knew it—he planned to go in alone, break out His Highness, and together they’d fight their way back. If the Blue Lions had not scattered to the winds following Edelgard’s attack on the monastery, he might have asked them for help. But they had their own families, their own territories to attend. It would have to be Dedue, and Dedue alone.

But it had always been that way, and he was used to relying on no one.

After he rescued His Highness—well. He hadn’t gotten that far. After that, he would handle whatever came.

The first step was getting to Dimitri.

In Dimitri’s presence, Dedue had been masked. According to the people of Faerghus, a man of Duscur was suspicious, but in the presence of the Crown Prince, little could be done or said otherwise. Alone, however, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He waited until dark to make a move. In the dead of night, cloaked in starlight and shadow, Dedue crept towards the dungeons.

He took out the first guard before the man even saw him, easing him to the ground as quietly as he was able.

The second post consisted of two men. The first Dedue took out as easily as he had the initial guard. The second he silenced with a hand axe to the chest the moment before the man could raise an alarm. His body hit the floor with a thump, weapon clattering loudly against the stone, but it couldn’t be helped. Dedue steadied himself with a foot on the man’s torso, retrieved his axe, and kept moving.

The third set of guards had been alerted from the previous scuffle. Dedue had expected they would be. But his professor had taught him to fight against worse odds than two against one, and it took only a few, bloody moments for Dedue to prevail. The fighting was not discreet, but stealth was no longer a priority. At this depth in the dungeons, it was like as not that someone had heard them. But he was almost at his destination. Ever mindful of the closing window of time, Dedue forged ahead to the room with the prince’s cell.

The single guard therein should not have surprised Dedue, and yet it did; he had only accounted for the ones prior. They had increased security, it seemed, in response to the strength of resistance their prisoner had met them with. The guard, a mage in unusual clothing, hurled a grimy blob of dark magic towards Dedue. With a cry, Dedue shouldered through it to pin the man against the wall. This was not the first such mage he had seen—they had popped up throughout the Kingdom suddenly and with increasing frequency. But like most mages, they were more dangerous from a distance. Up close, they were frail as flower petals.

Dedue smashed the mage’s head against the wall and ensured his victory with a decisive swing of his axe. He took a shuddering breath and coughed, shaking off the effects of the magic. Like swallowing sludge.

Against the bars of the cell, Dimitri stood flush, watching with a wide blue eye. His hands were bound in cold iron manacles, his legs weighted with chain. The gag in his mouth prevented him from speaking, but it could not mask the concern written plainly on his body.

“Your Highness,” Dedue breathed. He ripped the gag from Dimitri’s mouth.

“What are you _doing_ here,” the prince seethed.

“Getting you out,” Dedue said. He turned away and crouched by the remains of the mage, searched for a keyring. Hidden just beneath the mage’s robes, he found them.

“Dedue, _no_. Get out of here.”

Dedue did not respond. He rose, ring in hand, and made towards the cell door.

Dimitri pressed his head against the bars. “I beg of you, leave before it is too late.”

With a single shake of his head, Dedue unlocked the door. Dimitri backed away.

“Dedue, you _must_ go. I—I _command you_ to go.”

“I will not.”

He grabbed the chains around Dimitri’s wrists and pulled them towards him. The prince’s shoulders slumped. He shook anew each time Dedue fit another key into the lock. The sound of hurried footsteps froze them both. Dimitri whirled towards the door, chains rattling with the motion. Dedue kept his head down and focused on the lock.

“ _Why_ ,” Dimitri asked hoarsely. “Why won’t you go? You could—you could hide. I could distract them and give you an exit.”

He had to have known it was too late for Dedue to flee. He had to have known Dedue would not have anyway. With a forced steadiness, Dedue attended to the keys. He did not look up as he spoke.

“Your Highness,” he said. “You once saved me in Duscur. I have devoted my life to your service since. You are a good man, and I will not see you punished for this falsehood.”

The manacles unlocked with a _click_ and clattered to the stone floor. Dedue bent to unshackle the lock at Dimitri’s feet.

“You must go on to avenge those you’ve lost. You cannot do that if you are dead.”

The lock would not take the same key. Smart of them. But the window of time was almost shut.

“Stand still,” Dedue warned, and smashed the lock with the poll of his axe. The restraints loosened, freeing Dimitri as the door flung open. Four armed guards spilled into the room.

One man gasped, pointing with a trembling hand. “The p-prince is unbound!”

Dedue did not give them time for further observations. He flung his hand axe at one enemy and charged into another. The man did not fall easily, but he fell. With a grunt, Dedue launched into the next man nearest. His lungs burned with each swing—perhaps the dark magic had taken further root than he thought? Not good, but not important. He would fight to the end.

If only he had thought to take a weapon, so His Highness could—

A bloodcurdling scream and the sounds of something crunching behind him interrupted the thought. Evidently His Highness did not require a weapon.

Dimitri crashed into the man Dedue struggled with, something dark glinting in his eye, and disposed of him quickly.

“Are you all right, my friend?” Dimitri asked softly. The contrast of his tone was so stark against the blood on his face that it sent a brief rush of dizziness through Dedue. He took a breath. Then another. The magic had definitely taxed him. He could not take a deep enough breath.

“I will persist,” Dedue said. “Come. We are not out yet.”

They met with little resistance on the way out, despite the number of men that came to stop them.

And then they were back above ground, sprinting out of the castle towards freedom. They made only one stop—for Areadbhar, the Relic lance. With such a powerful weapon in the such powerful hands, the odds tipped substantially in their favor.

Against the black of the sky, a violet burst streaked after them. A score of pinpricks of light flickered behind them.

“Cornelia,” Dimitri spat, turning around. Dedue pushed him forward, panting with the effort. Breathing was becoming a chore. Likely he would not be able to keep pace if they went much further.

And there was so much further to go.

“We cannot stop, Your Highness. We cannot match such a force. Not yet.”

Areadbhar glowed red in Dimitri’s grasp. In the uncanny light of the lance, Dimitri leered. “Are you quite certain of that?”

“Yes,” Dedue said, shoving him again. The force that seized Dimitri relinquished its hold, and he turned back ahead and ran. Another blast of dark magic flew perilously close by.

“Do not stop running,” Dedue shouted. “I am right behind you.”

Within moments, the blue of Dimitri’s cape had vanished into the night.

Good.

Axe in hand, Dedue turned to face the approaching force. With any luck, he could buy Dimitri some time.

* * *

In the empty room that had held the Prince of Faerghus, Cornelia screamed.

The best-trained guards Fhirdiad could offer had been little more than warm bodies in the end, powerless to stop a single man from tearing through them like paper. Miserable buffoons. For their hubris, their _sheer ineptitude_ , they deserved their gruesome ends. And now there was a mess to clean up.

A mage approached her cautiously. “Lady Cornelia…”

“Find me someone to clean up this filth,” she barked.

The man shrank. “Th-there is news, my lady.”

“If it’s not that the prince has been recaptured, I don’t want to hear it.”

He shrunk a little further. “Well, it’s not quite—”

“ _What_ , then?” she thundered. “What else could possibly matter?”

Two soldiers brought in a tall man, bound and covered in blood. With a blow to the back of the captive’s legs, the soldier on the right bade the man to kneel. The mage hurried over, pulling the sack from the captive’s head.

Cornelia grinned, a wicked pleasure rising in her.

“Well now. You’re not the Prince of Faerghus.”

The man said nothing, glaring back despite the blood that dripped from the cuts on his face.

The prince’s vassal. A consolation prize at best. But the prince had held his man close to his heart. Losing him would be another blow. Perhaps the final straw. What if he, too, could be implicated in the Tragedy of Duscur? The possibilities were as endless as they were delicious.

“Have you seen Prince Dimitri anywhere?” Cornelia asked, unable to keep the smile from her lips. “There’s an important meeting soon I know he’s _dying_ to attend.”

The man did not break eye contact.

“His Highness has escaped.”

“Is that so? Too bad then. Perhaps we can flush him out with your death.”

His eyes widened a fraction. He struggled against the soldiers holding him down until one struck the back of his head hard enough to knock him out. Cornelia put a hand to her mouth to stifle the giddy laugh that threatened to bubble out. She cleared her throat.

“Throw him in a cell. If we can’t execute the prince himself, his lapdog will do in his stead.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...so you remembered to do Dedue's paralogue, right?
> 
> Thank you for reading. <3 If this piece touched you in some way, please leave a comment! And remember that it all turns out okay. <3


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